BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
I’m one half of a couple
laying one side of a bed…
should I cry or laugh or cuddle?
I can’t escape my dread
city
country
heat & frost
& contradictions keep
me hungry and exhausted
but I cannot eat or sleep
you haunt me
without equal
as I thunder
through our hallways
I want you
resting peaceful
yet I hunger
for you always.
Written by Jason Wright
May 26, 2018
For Aaron & Little Jason
There was a boy…
There was a summer boy
who had us call him Sebastian…
and though this name fit him perfectly,
I was never quite convinced
that this is what his unseen
unknown parents had christened him.
He had traveled cross country
to visit a friend of mine
whom he had never met
or seen face to face.
The friend and I were only ever friends in name only
because our friends were friends with one another…
but we never once connected without the others…
and if he was blind to what was actually happening,
well, I wasn’t going to cross a line
or clue him in;
not when he’d often been as cruel
as the summer wind which
drew us out together that long ago
summertime evening.
Summer boy Sebastian
from exotic southern state
had beautiful teeth
and a slight but sexy drawl
to all his decidedly decadent
turns of phrase
which spoke of unvoiced attraction.
We never acknowledged this aloud
but it was an understanding
between us,
like we were the couple
and everyone else had tagged along with us
for the voyeuristic fun of it all.
Hot, sticky Michigan summer night –
the kind of night that usually drove us
to backwoods skinny dipping pond,
instead lead us to old haunted
devil worshipping sorority house,
near the fancy two-story McDonald’s
where Anthony used to give me free fries…
where we collected on the asphalt
like mardi gras gutter trash
as we exchanged stories…
as Sebastian subtly signaled,
slyly suggested and studied my every glance
with a scholar’s dedicated devotion.
Later, after pink moon drives
with mosquito infested breezes
I saw snow fall in the sweltering desert
which he had finally gifted me with,
ice crystals catching on eyelashes
and melting on our lips
as we said our final goodnight.
I never saw him again.
But he never slept with our companions either…
He waited until the coast was clear
and then fled the scene
before any of us knew
what the night had taken from us…
leaving us as haunted and questioning
as the abandoned and seemingly evil sorority house.
But those moments before abandonment
are always remembered with a sad sort of smile
when I stumble across the miracle he gave me
when he must have known our time
had finally come to an end.
Written by Jason Wright
April 30, 2018
In disco dreams of the demimonde
Harry Potter’s ruthless offspring
offers me some of his poppers,
but I tell him
I enjoy my visions far too much
and anyways, I’ve never needed drugs
to enjoy being penetrated
by words, thoughts or horny
black medical technicians named Robert.
He tells me that I don’t know
what I’m missing
before he shrugs and hoovers
the proffered merchandise,
riding away on his boyfriend’s
upturned open relationship broomstick.
I push through a crowd of 70’s queens,
fruity fudge packers and ambidextrous wank masters
who’ve all chosen to inhale deeply but are undone
by their vigorous Viagra consumption…
They may all have fairy wings
but they’re dropping like flies.
Anxious about anxiety
and tempted by temptation
I ramble back to reality
by way of Central Park’s Tavern on the Green,
which ex-boyfriend swore had been positively decimated…
And just like that,
I realize that realization is as real
as all I now see…
And I find my mind has left behind the grind:
I’m fine as fine can be.
Written by Jason Wright
April 30, 2018
For Joe L & Michael E:
practically perfect in all of my dreams.
1
Pain radiates
through smoothly shaven flesh,
Unseen skull
in burning wrapping paper,
I skitter to share
what it seeks to prevent…
The years are a bitch
and I ache to betray her…
For words in this gloaming
are enabled by night…
Even when tinged
with the heartbreak of sorrow…
Thoughts freely roaming
until morning sight…
Might seem unhinged
come the light of tomorrow.
2
There was a morning, a day, a hot afternoon
where I thought my life would change…
where my wandering
had finally altered my direction…
but it wasn’t meant to be.
Perhaps every day is like this for others…
but the day I am thinking of,
the day of sex before the sermon,
I believed that I’d finally arrived
somewhere I was meant to be,
only to learn across the years
that I would seldom ever return,
and I wish I would have known
how special that time was,
how precious those moments.
It’s altogether different
yet somehow the same
when watching you
watching whales…
when the music you share
nearly kills me with it’s mournful beauty –
giving me fever chills and death spasms
before my fever breaks
and I’m allowed to dance
in the trance of our shoegazing
dream pop.
In the fever
all that could comfort me
was the seemingly old
but younger woman
with the ghost on the porch…
An echo of that first reading
joining my pain across two different eras.
3
The first would have been discovery,
and on the very brink of puberty
as I stumbled through that sea of trees
to find a validating fiction.
And now the feeling: brotherly,
yet still cherry stink of nudity
as I’m humbled by our deities
to bind an animated friction.
And the proof
it is not fair
but the truth
is he’s out there
begging for money,
trading sex for drugs hungry
while the whales circle round us
tasting sweetly table scraps.
And the lie
if there is one
is that life
is a shotgun
because life hasn’t drowned us
baby please don’t go like that.
Written by Jason Wright
April 19, 2018
For Sean (Mobley) and Steve and Anthony.
It’s Thursday night
and I have my group.
Aaron leaves before me
for his meeting
and he kisses me goodbye.
Other Aaron,
the Aaron that we share,
that Aaron messages us both
about loneliness and homophobia.
Mark messages me about my Aaron’s former employers.
I see that Michael is in town and let him know
I’ll be in the village around nine,
near Stonewall,
on Christopher Street.
Christopher calls me on the train
and though the timing is down to the wire
I tell him I’ll stop by if I can.
Poetry pours out of us in faster than usual process.
Michael can see me but I meet him at his hotel near Times Square
to be closer to Chris’s Washington Heights.
We go to Blazing Saddles, Rise past Posh / Industry
to Ivy because the straighter crowd isn’t obsessed with RuPaul.
He drinks margaritas. I drink whiskey.
We talk about our decade old relationship;
how he had fallen for me before I had fallen for him,
only much too late – such terrible timing,
but at least we’re friends now!
We talk about Mark, who messaged me earlier,
how our relationship / friendship extends over years,
and I told him about Aaron / Aaron & Christopher.
I walked him back to his hotel with a quick kiss
and a big hug
before catching the A train (from 42nd to 175th)
where I stumble
sleepily to Christopher’s new apartment
and we crawl through someone’s bedroom window
to take in the remarkable view.
Later he tells me about life
and we trade stories before I stumble home
in the dark Friday morning.
Saturday, Aaron drives Michael & I to
the New York City AIDS Memorial.
Michael saw “Afterglow” the night before;
a wonderful play filled with naked men,
and believe me, I’ve seen them.
We walk to the Stonewall National Monument in Christopher Park,
the Stonewall Inn, past the Ad Hoc Collective Cafe
(where my poetry meetings are held),
past PIECES and then catch a train down to Chinatown & Little Italy
so I can get some jewelry.
Later we head to Central Park by way of Marvel headquarters
and the Columbus Circle Shops to meet some of his friends
who we somehow never connect with.
We walk to the Bethesda Fountain
which we love because it’s in “Angels in America”
and it’s where the Avengers parted ways…
before heading back to Columbus Circle so he can attend
“Naked Boys Singing” and I can catch a train back to the Heights
so I can shower, put on something warmer and go meet Aaron
and several of our friends for a birthday celebration
in Jock Douchebag Heaven
which as it so happens,
ends up being in the Meatpacking District.
Written by Jason Wright
April 15, 2018
Beautiful man sparks
out of the corner of my eye –
– of my consciousness –
The smile in his gaze
and recognition / realization
makes me ache with sorrowful pleasure.
Scott. He tells me his name is Scott.
Not Louis de Pointe du Lac. Not Nothing.
Scott with two T’s.
So much going on behind those luminous eyes –
Eyes that sparked my attention –
Eyes that fit that transcendent face –
Beautiful. He is beautiful
and at least 23 years younger than me.
My 23 years younger self
would have no idea what to say to him
or how to convey what his bravery meant to me
[to the world]
nor how his honesty had transformed him
into this Vampire Angel Masculine Satyr –
I would not have known that ethereal creatures
could be anything so mundane or wondrous as
Gay, Male, Top or Bottom –
or that they could satisfy my base cravings for penetration & kink.
I tell him none of this.
He seems innocent…
brilliant, yes, and undoubtedly breathtaking…
but innocent
and I’m 23 years older,
partnered and flying back to NYC
in just 4 days time.
I tell him the truth:
I tell him I am happy that he has found this place
and wish him well…
mention my old site
and become his Facebook friend.
All this in the same spot where
12 years before
I met Shane, his brother,
the one who changed everything,
taught me to want, to believe,
to stretch and grow,
and who, in the end,
left me haunted for all my days to come.
Somewhere Shane is smiling now
and Scott must see this
joy behind my eyes.
Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018
For Scott Perry
Young woman says she’s a slut;
that sucking 7 dicks in 26 years
has ROBBED her of her valuable imagery,
as if her precious virginal appeal
were a STRONGBOX that had been BURGLED
by a gang of 7 THIEVES.
I tell her that I’ve been fucked by nearly 100 men,
I’ve fucked and eaten out 5 different women,
(sometimes with other men inside of them),
I’ve licked and fucked countless assholes
and sucked a multitude of cocks…
I’ve had more than one prick inside me at the same time
and swallowed gallons of various fluids…
and I DON’T feel like a slut at all –
because I don’t permit anyone to devalue my worth.
She says it’s completely different for me because I’m gay
and because I’m a man.
She says that as a woman she must remain
LOCKED UP —————> (((((TIGHT)))))
She envies my homosexual brethren
because we’re allowed to be sexual outlaws.
She excitedly whispers that if she were a FAG
she’d never stop fucking – – –
says she’d use her gay male privilege to
explore every fantasy and
taste every forbidden fruit
in every possible COMBINATION…
to blow her prison door off it’s hinges
with a dynamite explosion
of long repressed desire
long denied satisfaction…
never playing it SAFE ever again.
Written by Jason Wright
April 12, 2018
FUCK
me in bondage
deny me
erections
rip me
in half
and split me
in sections
leather + dildos
daddies + diapers
A drink
with a kink
can be cockblock
for writers!
Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018
the need to resist
to persist with the lie
that I’m not a freak
hard to speak when I cry
the need for another
my brother was stolen
incest is best
lest we find our hearts frozen
their rules disobey
by the saying of truth
they want to deny
but inside us there’s proof
our joy will not frown
will not drown in the river
and the ice in their price
did not cause us to shiver
that tremble assembled
of passion and trust
was furthered by murder
attempt on our lust
Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018
I need to sleep
but the boy in the field
won’t leave me in peace
or admit that he’s real
so I can’t close my eyes
until I have captured
the verdict of spies
that has left us enraptured
by twig and by leaf
by bird and by bone
by fall of rain water
and on him it shone…
the boy in the field
may never be real
but he looks like another
and they have each other.
Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018